


to die, to sleep

by iwritetrash



Series: all that lives must die [2]
Category: Victoria (TV)
Genre: Angst, Death, Infidelity, Introspection, Kissing, M/M, Period-Typical Homophobia, Pretty much no dialogue, Slow Burn, The Iliad References, The Song of Achilles references, drummond dies, i mean it's pretty much the plot of the show with a hell of a lot of introspection, some good stuff, this isn't a fix it fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-11
Updated: 2017-12-11
Packaged: 2019-02-13 16:16:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,191
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12987750
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/iwritetrash/pseuds/iwritetrash
Summary: to die, to sleep;to sleep, perchance to dream





	to die, to sleep

**Author's Note:**

> so this is sort of like draw thy breath in pain but from drummond's perspective with a few bits of info that i couldn't really include in alfred's pov and obviously ending when he dies so... you don't need to have read draw thy breath in pain to get this, but yah enjoy the angst
> 
> also yes, i am still using hamlet quotes for titles...

Edward is not foolish enough to deceive himself into thinking Alfred’s actions are not deliberate. He may not have entered into such an untraditional courtship before, but his is not oblivious to this subtle flirtation; it is a game he is all too willing to play.

Alfred keeps him on his toes with dazzling smiles and knowing smirks thrown his way with reckless abandon as his hands brush Edward so slightly it could be passed off as an accident, if not for the glint in Alfred’s eyes. Edward catches Alfred looking away from time to time and suspects that there is a far more telling look which is being hidden for the sake of the wider public, and for their own discretion.

Edward longs to know that look which Alfred is intent on hiding so carefully.

~

Such relationships as this are new to Edward. Though he had felt some attraction to his own sex at times, he had repressed those feelings for fear of condemnation. Where Alfred is concerned, however, he finds himself entirely unable to suppress those desires which have burned inside him for so long.

The catch: Edward is engaged to be married to a perfectly pleasant young woman named Florence.

Having realised his attraction to women would likely never be what it should, he had resolved to settle on the match of his parents’ choice. They were pleased, if a little confused, and had quickly arranged for him to meet with Florence, his bride-to-be. She was charming, sweet, attractive, well-mannered, and, essentially, all the things a proper lady ought to be. Edward was saddened, therefore, to think that he was to marry her and remove her from all chances at a marriage where she might truly be loved by her husband.

His sham of an engagement had become all the more apparent to him upon meeting Alfred. He wonders how he can possibly go through with the marriage when half of his soul seems to reside in the body of Lord Alfred Paget.

~

Alfred finds out about his fiancée eventually. Of course, Edward could hardly have hoped to keep it a secret forever, it was only a matter of time before the news got out, and yet Edward had hoped he might have had more time before he would have to explain the situation to Alfred.

Edward hopes he never has to see Alfred’s face crumple in such a way again, as though he were in physical pain at the idea of Edward being engaged. It had been only for a moment, before Alfred had quickly resumed his façade as _Lord Alfred_ , growing cold as he pushed past Edward and walks away.

Perhaps if Edward had said something before, if he had taken a chance to tell Alfred of his feelings… But no. That would have changed nothing. Edward is still engaged.

~

Edward spends hours upon hours driving himself to near-distraction trying to think of what on earth to say to Alfred, how to convince Alfred to forgive him for his mistakes, to draw from Alfred that tender gaze which had been absent since the news broke.

He cannot string together a single sentence which seems adequate to express to Alfred how dreadful he feels, how he wishes he weren’t engaged, how he wishes it was Alfred instead of Florence to whom he was to be wed.

Peel shakes him from his trance to ask the cause of his distractedness. The marriage, he assumes. How shocked he would be to learn the true reason for Edward’s state.

~

France brings a change that neither of them dare to speak of. Neither Edward nor Alfred are known at all in the French court, allowing them both a degree of freedom, which they certainly take advantage of.

When the Prince leaps into a pool of water in the middle of the forest, the pair are quick to follow, despite the icy temperature. Edward is tentative in his suggestion, but it seems Alfred has forgiven him already, eager to undress and join the Prince.

Edward finds himself uncomfortably aware of the fact that Alfred stands beside him, entirely nude, as he leaps in. The water is a shock, cold enough to make his teeth chatter almost instantly, but then Alfred is beside him, splashing and dunking him with a dazzling grin.

Like children, they swim around each other, laughing and playing as though they haven’t a care in the world. For a moment, their obligations and commitments melt away to leave the two of them in a world where Edward is not engaged, where Alfred is not a Lord, and where they are free to be themselves.

~

Freedom, it seems, can only ever be temporary. Even in France, they can only be free from scrutiny for so long.

Eventually they must leave the pool and return to formal society. Though Alfred’s eyes still glint with mischief when he glances at Edward, they must refrain from touching, from leaning into one another, from smiling a little too much.

~

The situation only worsens when they return to London.

London holds challenges from which the escape was all too brief, namely that of Edward’s increasingly imminent marriage. He attempts to postpone the wedding, of course, but he is wholly unsuccessful in deterring Florence.

Calling off the engagement altogether presents itself as a viable option, but Edward decides he couldn’t bear to do such a thing to Florence, who had been a true friend to him, over a futile hope. It is not as if he and Alfred are engaged in a passionate love affair, he reminds himself.

Still, he cannot bear Alfred’s reaction when he makes the mistake of mentioning his fiancée in conversation. He truly looks as though it brings him pain to hear of Edward’s engagement. Edward supposes he would feel much the same if their positions were reversed.

Alfred seems to retreat into himself as they talk, his usual vibrancy ebbing away to make way for devastation instead in a way that breaks Edward’s heart to look at. He wants to pull Alfred close, to brush away the tears that are threatening to form in his eyes, to kiss him, God, how Edward wants to kiss him, and tell him that he will end the engagement immediately.

But he can’t. 

And so he forces himself to walk away, to leave Alfred, even as his very soul cries out to be near him. 

~

An escape is precisely what Edward needs. An escape from London, from his parents, and, most of all, from Florence. The Queen’s abrupt decision to visit Scotland offers the perfect opportunity.

~

 _You really think they were friends_ , Alfred teases, and Edward knows his words hold meaning far deeper that discussions of Patroclus and Achilles.

 _I wouldn’t know what else to call them_.

It’s the truth. Edward cannot put a name to these strange feelings, and the playful grin Alfred gives him before moving past him to continue along the path only serves to further his confusion. If Alfred has a name for these feelings then he is certainly not keen to share it so easily.

~ 

Edward knows the topic of his fiancée is not one Alfred enjoys, yet he seems to stomach it in good humour when Edward confesses his lack of attraction to her.

It is the first time he has ever said it out loud before.

Alfred is, most definitely, a fitting candidate for such an admission, and Edward finds himself relieved to have finally cleared the air of such things. Edward doesn’t miss the way Alfred’s cheer seems to become ever so slightly more genuine once he admits he doesn’t care romantically for Florence. The subtext is easy to read: _not the way I care for you_.

~

Somewhere amidst worrying for the safety of the Queen, as he passes the small hours of the morning hoping for her return, Edward finds time to contemplate the question which has played on his mind since he and Alfred spoke in the forest. 

 _I wouldn’t know what else to call them_ , he thinks, _I wouldn’t know what to call_ us.

Friends seems too vague, yet he can hardly call them lovers at this stage. Would lovers ever be fitting for such an untraditional pair?

 _Lovers_.

He likes the idea of having a lover, especially if that lover is Alfred, and yet he questions the reality of such a situation ever occurring.

He has no doubt that Alfred has experience in such affairs, and yet he appears to be taking a step back to allow Edward to call the shots. There must be method in Alfred’s madness, otherwise it is as ridiculous as leaving him in charge of a ship which he cannot sail.

~ 

The imminence of their return to London plays on Edward’s mind during that endless night. This brief time in Scotland has been so liberating already that he can hardly bear the thought of returning to everything which is holding him back. Florence is definitely the thing he fears returning to the most.

Every single minute he spends with Alfred makes him more certain that he must end the engagement. How can he marry her when his heart is with Alfred?

It would not be right, and yet Alfred is not his lover, and he is not his to make sacrifices for. Not yet.

~

After the Queen’s abrupt return, Edward’s relief is so great that he wonders why he cannot feel such relief at the resolution of other issues in his life. It is that which encourages him to kiss Alfred after a night of dancing and drinking he is certain he will never forget.

It is not perfect by any means, Edward has no idea what he is doing, and he is sure that it shows, but he cannot help himself. Alfred looks so beautiful in the light of the setting sun, eyes soft, lips curved into a slight smile, hair and clothes dishevelled from the dancing, looking up at Edward like nothing else matters in the world.

Alfred’s lips taste like rum. That is the first thing he notices. The second thing he notices is Alfred’s hands, one on Edward’s shoulder, the other gripping at his waistcoat to keep him close.

Edward kisses him again, their knees knocking together as they lean in. This time when he leans back Alfred smiles, before pulling him in for another, longer kiss. Their noses rub together as they smile at each other stupidly, in a lovestruck daze.

The relief seems to fill Edward’s entire body like a tidal wave starting at his lips and washing all the way down to his toes, filling him with warmth and happiness. _This is it_ , he thinks, _this is all I want. This and this and this, forever._

~

They have to go back. Of course they do. Moments like that cannot last forever. Not for people like them.

Edward and Alfred still have their time together, carving holes in busy schedules to make room for one another. It is not the same.

Their time together is strained, constantly permeated with the fear of being caught, with the fear of being condemned, with the unspoken words which hover below the surface. Edward is not blind to Alfred’s concerns. He watches his lover drive himself to distraction with his own thoughts. He does not know whether he is more concerned for their souls or for Edward’s marriage.

So, Edward makes a decision. 

He will end the marriage. He tells his lover this news, and yet Alfred does not celebrate, he does not jump for joy, or break into a grin. He seems… disappointed.

It hurts.

 _I’m doing this for you!_ He wants to scream. But he can’t. So he leaves instead.

~

Staying away from Alfred feels impossible. Every moment Edward is without him feels as though he is walking around with only half of his soul. He aches to forgive him, to take him back, and yet he is stubborn. Damn him for being so idiotic.

~

Alfred writes him a letter asking him to come to dinner. 

How can Edward refuse?

He will go tonight, after the vote has been taken, whatever the result may be. He will go. 

~ 

Edward never makes it to dinner. The bullet finds his heart before he has the chance to make amends with Alfred.

The gunshot comes so quickly he hardly has time to think before he’s pushing Peel out of the line of fire and inadvertently placing himself in it. It tears through him, and Edward knows the moment it hits him that there will be no recovery from this.

Blood soaks through his clothes, he falls to the ground, and he can hear the screams around him as he does, and yet nothing seems to matter except the fact that he won’t make it to dinner.

Alfred will be waiting, he realises, waiting for him to come. Perhaps someone could go to him, and explain why Edward cannot be there, so Alfred does not resent him… Words fail him as blood fills his mouth. 

 _Goodbye, my lover,_ he thinks, but has no voice with which to speak.

**Author's Note:**

> so i've been thinking about making this a series.. like, covering this relationship from different perspectives so looking at wilhelmina's take on things, or how things go down for florence and obviously there would be some overlap but hopefully also some completely different bits that could be covered... idk though lmk in the comments if that's maybe something you'd be interested in?
> 
> anyway thank you so much for reading this angsty thing.... i cannot write fix-it fics to save my life... so yeah, i hope you liked it, lmk in the comments or something, and thanks again <3


End file.
